


Grief Again

by Spera_via



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9859649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spera_via/pseuds/Spera_via
Summary: Dealing with grief is better done alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as an in character reaction to a player leaving them game.

Captain Tris'tio sat at his desk.

With all but the red emergency lights out, it looked like some post-apocalyptic office space. Holos floated ghostlike above their tables and illuminated the papers left there. Datapads beeped softly, almost sleepily on abandoned desks.

The Intel 'night' shift had been sent home for their time. Trist had waved them out the door with a small smile telling them to enjoy themselves. He brushed off their thanks telling them they earned it. He sent mail to the 'day' shift promising a day off in their futures to be fair. Then he taped a note to, and locked, the Intel doors so the guards knew better than to bother him.

When he returned to his desk, he settled himself in his chair and turned off all but the dim red lights. He glanced up at the cameras in the room and pressed a button on his desk. As one, they sagged at his order to shut down. Satisfied he was alone, the Captain reached into the pocket on the inside of his jacket, expression grim.

He pulled out a crumpled, embossed, and decorated envelope.

Trist tapped it against the desk for a long moment. The ink used to write his name and title shimmered slightly at the action. He grimaced before opening it, again, being careful to not crack the wax seal that had held it closed.

For the umpteenth time he began to read, skipping over the introduction and right to the parts that had been stuck in his brain all day.

'Found his effects at the Revanite compound we ambushed.'  
'Ship found abandoned.'  
'No sign of a body.'  
'You are only one on his private comm channel with a recorded residence.'  
'We are sending you what we can. The rest will be requisitioned by the Empire.'

'You have our deepest condolences.'  
'Empress Acina.'

Trist had woken up that morning, not only with a wicked hangover, but to a small fortune. The letter and the packages were waiting for him at his office, adding credence to the Empress' words.

Trist carefully folded up the letter and slid it back into its envelope and sighed, feeling more than just physically tired.

This was so typical of that asshole. To just up and leave. In fact, Trist wasn’t sure why he expected this time to be any different than the last time. But this time… was different than last time. This time, there wouldn’t be a next time.

His chest began to feel tight. It was hard to breathe.

Trist leaned forward, resting against his desk, pressing his face in the crook of his elbow.

Agent Carson, always early to his shift, sighed at the note on the doors. He tore it off, unlocked them, and stepped forward. He turned on the lights to find the Captain, alone, with his face buried in his arms. A quick glance made the agent sigh in relief. The Captain was still alive, just asleep. Again.

The sigh of relief turned into one of exasperation. The Captain had slept there overnight again.

Agent Carson stepped over to the desk and set the extra coffee he was carrying next to Trist’s elbow.

“If you wake up now, it won’t get cold like the last one.” He said sternly. Trist groaned irritably before pushing himself away from his desk and rubbing an eye blearily. The envelope was clenched in his other hand.

“So when is our day off?” Carson asked as he moved to the desk in the corner. He picked up a datapad and studied it as he continued casually, “Soon I hope. I’d like to go to Rishii.”

He sent a sidelong glance towards Trist, his smirk faltering at what he saw. Trist was sitting at his desk, absently rubbing his eye a he looked solemnly at his name scrawled in neat handwriting on the front of the envelope. Carson frowned and turned back to his datapad, keeping the Captain in view out of the corner of his eye.

Trist sighed before reaching in his desk and pulling out a lighter. As he flicked it alight he nudged a trash can over with a foot, held the envelope above the opening, and carefully set the papers ablaze.

'The Imperatrix asked me why I don’t try to make a family of my own.' The Captain thought grimly. 'I said they either leave or die.'

He watched as the paper caught. The fire quickly burned through the embossment and melted the wax.

'Case in point.'

He dropped the blazing envelope into the can where it promptly ignited the other trash. The small flame turned into a small blaze. Carson stopped pretending to be otherwise occupied. His gaze flicked between Trist and the fire in the trash can.

Trist stared at the fire for a long moment more before taking the coffee and drinking from it.

“Carson.” He said, sounding much like his old, uptight, captain-y self. Carson smirked before jumping to attention.

“Yes sir.”

“Call a droid to put this out before it burns a hole in the floor.” Trist pushed himself away from the desk, coffee in hand, and walked to the holoprojector in the middle of the room.

“Yes sir.”


End file.
